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Carlos’s POV
Late Night at Auradon Prep
I was still towel-drying my hair when Chad grabbed my arm.
Practice had run long. My shoulders ached, my legs felt like lead, and all I wanted was to get back to the dorm, face-plant into bed, and not think about anything for at least twelve hours. The locker room had emptied out. Most of the team was already gone. I had my bag over one shoulder, jacket half-zipped, freckled skin still pink from the hot water.
“De Vil. Hold up.”
Chad’s hand closed around my biceps and tugged. Before I could ask what he wanted he was steering me down the side hallway that led to the old student lounge—the one nobody used after hours because the vending machines were broken and the couches smelled like dust. The door clicked shut behind us. The overhead lights were only half-on, throwing everything into a tired yellow glow.
I blinked at him. “Uh. What’s up?”
Chad shoved his hands in his pockets and did that little bounce on his heels he always did when he was about to talk too much. “Crazy practice, right? Coach is really leaning into those new formations. I think if we tighten up the left wing we could actually pull off that reverse sweep we’ve been drilling. You’ve seen the way Jay keeps overcommitting on the right side? If we fake the handoff and swing it left instead, the whole defense collapses. Genius. I’m telling you.”
I just stared. “Okay…?”
“Weather’s been weird too,” he kept going, like I’d asked. “Like, humid but cold? Doesn’t make sense. My hair’s been doing this thing where it won’t stay down in the mornings. You ever get that? Probably not. Your hair’s always kind of… gravity-defying anyway.” He gestured vaguely at my white-and-black mess. “Oh, and I bought these magic beans the other day. Super good investment. Like, once they sprout I’m basically set for life. Guy who sold them said they’ll grow a whole stalk by next month. You should get in on it. I can introduce you.”
I shifted my bag higher on my shoulder. “Chad. I don’t want magic beans.”
“Your loss.” He shrugged, completely unbothered. “Also my phone’s making this weird buzzing sound. Not a normal notification buzz. Like a continuous thing. Think you could take a look? You’re good with tech stuff. Carlos-the-tech-guy. That’s basically your brand.”
“No.” The word came out flatter than I meant. I adjusted the strap of my bag again just for something to do with my hands. “I’m tired. Can we not do whatever this is right now?”
He smiled like I hadn’t spoken. Then the smile shifted into something more focused. He stepped closer, close enough that I had to tilt my head back a little to keep looking at his face.
“Alright. Lemme get to the point.”
“Please do.”
His hand came up and settled on the side of my face. The touch was weirdly gentle and completely unexpected. Warm palm against my freckled cheek. I froze. Chad’s eyes locked on mine—intense in a way that didn’t match the usual airhead energy he threw around the tourney field.
“Ben told me what you did.”
My stomach dropped so hard I felt dizzy. Heat flooded my face so fast it made my ears ring. Every freckle suddenly felt visible, like they were glowing under the lounge lights.
Chad’s voice stayed light, almost wondering. “Shit, De Vil. Little thing like you… how did you even do it? Even I had to stop letting Ben fuck me when his dick just kept getting longer and longer.” His other hand drifted down and pressed flat against my stomach, fingers spreading over the damp fabric of my shirt. The heat of his palm soaked straight through. “I heard you could even see it right here. He coulda broke you with that thing.”
I couldn’t get air in properly. My face was burning. The word slut flashed through my head so loud I was scared I’d said it out loud. I hadn’t. But it still sat there, heavy and true, right next to the memory of how far Ben had stretched me open.
“He said he wasn’t gonna tell anybody,” I managed. It came out weak and thin.
Chad’s thumb stroked once across my cheekbone. “I’m his best friend. Of course he told me.”
“Who else knows?” My voice cracked. I hated how small it sounded. “I… it wasn’t like that—I’m not like that.”
“Don’t worry.” His thumb slid down and rested against my lower lip, pressing just hard enough to part it. The pad of his thumb was warm and slightly rough. “I’m the only one he told. No one’s gonna know that you’re a little VK cockwhore.”
“I’m not.” I shook my head, but his hand stayed right there, keeping my face tilted up. “I’m not a—”
The rest of the sentence died when his thumb pushed past my lips and settled on my tongue. The taste of his skin—clean, a little salty from practice—filled my mouth. I was so shocked I just stood there with it resting heavy against my tongue, eyes wide, bag slipping off my shoulder to hit the floor with a dull thud.
Chad’s expression didn’t change. He just watched me, waiting, like this was the most natural next step in the conversation.
Chad’s voice stayed calm, almost instructive.
“Close up.”
My lips sealed around his thumb without me deciding to. The second I did, he started moving it—slow, deliberate slides in and out of my mouth like he was testing the motion. I could taste the faint salt of his skin. My face felt like it was on fire. Every freckle across my cheeks and nose burned.
“Ben told me what you did at the museum,” Chad said, still working his thumb between my lips. “I knew you VKs were nothing but trouble. I was gonna tell my mom how dangerous you people are.”
Panic spiked so hard my vision narrowed. I stopped moving, just holding his thumb on my tongue, eyes wide. Chad gave me a disappointed look—eyebrows up, mouth turned down like I’d failed a simple drill in practice. The second I saw it I started sucking again, automatic, cheeks hollowing around the finger. He nodded once, satisfied.
“But Ben told me that you guys have skills to offer here in Auradon.” His free hand stayed on my stomach, thumb brushing absently over the fabric. “He said no way a cocksucker as good as you should go back to the Isle. Want a chance to prove to me that he’s right?”
I didn’t get to answer. Chad’s hands settled on my shoulders and pushed. Not hard, just steady, and my knees buckled like they already knew the drill. I hit the dusty lounge carpet with a soft thud. My bag slid off my shoulder and landed somewhere behind me. When I looked up, Chad was already unzipping.
He pulled his cock out of his boxer-briefs like it was the most normal thing in the world. It wasn’t as massive as Ben’s had gotten toward the end, but it was thick, already half-hard, and right in front of my face. The smell of clean skin and faint sweat hit me. I stared at it for a second too long, then forced my eyes back up to his.
Why does this keep happening to me?
The thought was tired more than angry. First Ben with the footage. Now Chad with the story Ben had handed him. Same position, different prince. My stomach twisted with the familiar mix of dread and that sick little flicker of heat I hated admitting was there. I knew what the alternative was. Tell him no, and maybe he actually went to Queen Ella. Maybe the rest of the VKs got looked at harder. Maybe I got sent back. So I stayed on my knees and waited.
Chad rested the head against my bottom lip, still watching me with that same calm, entitled focus.
“Go on,” he said. “Show me what Ben was talking about.”
I opened my mouth and took him in. The weight of it on my tongue was immediate. I sealed my lips and started with slow, careful suction, the way that had made Ben’s breath hitch months ago. Chad’s hand landed in my white-and-black hair, not pushing yet, just resting there.
“Eyes up,” he murmured. “I wanna see those freckles while you do it.”
I looked up. His expression was pure satisfaction, like he’d just confirmed something he’d already suspected. I took him deeper, letting my tongue work the underside, and tried not to think about how easy it felt to fall into the rhythm again. My freckled cheeks hollowed. Spit started to gather at the corners of my mouth.
Chad exhaled through his nose, almost pleased.
“Yeah. Okay. He wasn’t lying.” His thumb—still damp from my mouth—brushed the corner of my lips where they stretched around him. “Little VK cockwhore really does know what he’s doing.”
The word landed like a slap and a spark at the same time. My face burned hotter. I kept going anyway, bobbing slowly, one hand coming up to wrap around the base because he was thickening fast and I already knew I wouldn’t fit all of it comfortably. The lounge was too quiet. Every wet sound felt loud. My own cock was starting to take interest against my will, trapped in still-damp shorts, and the shame of that made my stomach turn even while I sucked harder.
Chad’s fingers flexed in my hair.
“You’re gonna take it nice and deep for me,” he said, voice still conversational. “And when I ask you something, you’re gonna answer. Even if your mouth’s full. Got it?”
I made a muffled sound around him that was supposed to be yes. He seemed to accept it, because the next thing he said was soft and almost curious.
“Does it feel familiar? Being on your knees for a prince again?”
I tried to answer. It came out as a wet, broken noise, spit slipping down my chin. Chad just nodded like that was good enough and kept watching me, eyes half-lidded, the picture of someone who had all the time in the world and zero doubt that he deserved this.
Chad kept the pace easy at first, just letting me work. I took him deeper in slow strokes, tongue pressing along the underside, freckled cheeks hollowing every time I pulled back. Spit was already making everything slick. The wet sounds felt too loud in the empty lounge. My knees ached against the thin carpet. My own cock was fully hard now, trapped and ignored, and the shame of that sat hot in my stomach right next to the humiliation of being here again.
“You’re quieter than I expected,” Chad said. His hand stayed in my hair, guiding more than forcing. “Ben made it sound like you got pretty loud. Maybe that was just for him.”
I tried to shake my head. The motion made him bump the back of my throat and I gagged softly. Chad exhaled like the sound pleased him.
“Answer me properly. Is this better or worse than when Ben did it?”
I pulled off just enough to speak, voice rough and wet. “I don’t—mmph—”
He pushed back in before I could finish, not rough, just decisive. The rest of the sentence turned into a muffled, broken noise around his cock. Chad’s mouth curved.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. You don’t even know. You’re just good at this. Natural little cocksucker.”
The word hit the same way it had earlier—sharp and sticky. My face burned. I kept my eyes up the way he’d told me to, watching the satisfied look settle deeper on his face every time I took him further. My freckled fingers were wrapped around the base, stroking what wouldn’t fit. His cock was fully hard now, thick enough that my jaw was already complaining.
Chad’s thumb brushed the corner of my stretched lips again.
“Ben said you swallowed everything. That true?”
I made a muffled sound that was supposed to be yes. He seemed to like the way it vibrated around him.
“Good. You’re gonna do the same for me. No mess. I don’t want to walk out of here looking like I just got blown by a VK in the lounge.” He said it lightly, like he was discussing laundry. “You’re lucky I’m even giving you the chance to prove Ben right. Most people would’ve already called home.”
I sucked harder, eyes stinging a little from how deep he was getting. Every time I glanced up he was watching me with that calm, entitled focus—like this was just another drill and I was finally performing to standard. My free hand had curled into a fist against my own thigh hard enough that the freckles stood out white around the knuckles.
“Look at you,” he murmured. “All freckled and on your knees and still trying so hard. It’s actually kind of cute. In a pathetic way.”
I felt the shift when he got closer—hips starting to rock in short, shallow thrusts, breath going less steady. His fingers tightened in my hair.
“I’m gonna cum,” he said, almost conversational. “And you’re gonna swallow every drop. Nod if you understand.”
I nodded as best I could with my mouth full. The motion made him groan under his breath.
He didn’t warn me again. The first pulse hit the back of my tongue, thick and hot. I swallowed on instinct, throat working around him while he kept me there with the hand in my hair. More followed—steady pulses that I had to keep swallowing to avoid spilling. The taste was cleaner than Ben’s had been, but it still coated my mouth and left me breathing hard through my nose. Chad held me until the last twitch passed, then finally eased back.
I stayed on my knees, lips shiny, a thin string of spit and cum still connecting me to him for a second before it broke. My jaw ached. My freckled face felt like it was glowing. My cock was still hard and untouched in my shorts, and the fact that I’d gotten off on none of this except the humiliation made my stomach twist all over again.
Chad tucked himself away and zipped up like he’d just finished a quick meeting. He looked down at me, almost thoughtful.
“Not bad, De Vil. Ben wasn’t exaggerating.” He reached out and wiped a smudge from the corner of my mouth with his thumb, then wiped that same thumb on my jacket without thinking. “Stay right there. We’re not done.”
Chad pointed at the old couch against the far wall.
“Sit down. Pants to your knees. I wanna watch you finish.”
My face went hot all over again. I was still on the floor, lips puffy, the taste of him lingering. The idea of doing this in front of him made my stomach twist, but the alternative—arguing, risking the whole museum thing getting out—felt worse. I stood on unsteady legs, walked over, and dropped onto the worn cushions. My fingers were clumsy on the button of my shorts. I shoved them and my underwear down to mid-thigh. My cock sprang free, hard and flushed against the freckles that covered everything.
Chad pulled a chair over and sat like he was about to watch film from practice. Arms crossed, expression openly curious.
“Go on.”
I wrapped a hand around myself and stroked. It felt awkward under the weight of his stare. For a few seconds I couldn’t even get a proper rhythm—too aware of how I looked, pale and small on the big couch, freckles standing out under the yellow lounge lights. Chad tilted his head.
“You’re really covered in those things, huh? Freckles everywhere. Even on your dick.” He sounded almost fascinated. “And you’re kind of… compact. Ben wasn’t kidding about the size difference.”
I kept stroking, eyes fixed on a spot on the floor. My face burned.
Chad leaned forward a little. “Hey. Look up.” When I did, he reached out and caught my free wrist, turning my arm so the underside faced him. The fine hair there was pure white, the same as one side of my head. He brushed a thumb over it like he was checking if it was real. “Even your arm hair is two-tone. That’s actually wild. Does it go all the way down?”
I nodded once, mortified. My cock twitched in my hand anyway. The attention was humiliating and somehow making everything tighter, hotter. I stroked faster, thumb swiping over the head on every upstroke. Precome smeared across my freckled knuckles.
Chad let go of my arm and sat back, still watching.
“Puppy-dog eyes,” he said suddenly. “That’s what Ben called them. Look at me with those puppy-dog eyes, VK.”
I did. I didn’t mean to, but I did. Our eyes locked and the shame of it—sitting here with my pants around my knees, freckled and hard and stroking myself while Chad Charming catalogued every weird detail of my body—pushed me right to the edge. My breath stuttered. My hand flew faster.
“That’s it,” Chad murmured, almost encouraging. “Let me see it.”
The orgasm hit hard and messy. I came with a broken sound, spilling over my fist and across the front of my still-zipped jacket and the shirt underneath in thick stripes. Some of it landed on the freckles along my stomach. My hips jerked through it while I kept looking at him, unable to break the eye contact he’d demanded. The whole time he just watched, expression calmly interested, like he’d confirmed another data point.
When it was over I sat there panting, hand sticky, cum cooling on my clothes. The lounge suddenly felt too quiet again.
Chad stood up and pushed the chair back into place. He looked down at me—messy, exposed, freckled chest rising and falling—and smirked.
“That’s so nice, dude.”
Then he turned and walked out, leaving the door half-open behind him. His footsteps faded down the hallway like nothing important had happened.
I stayed on the couch for a long minute, pants still around my knees, the evidence of everything cooling on my shirt, and wondered how many more times this was going to happen before somebody finally decided I was more trouble than I was worth.